The Long Farewell of the Hunger Strike
by Lamachine
Summary: "But whose shitty plan was it, to stuck two kids in a wardrobe and ask them to save the world?" / Where Emma knows she is the Savior, and Regina doesn't remember being the Evil Queen. (SwanQueen)
1. Welcome to Storybrooke

The Long Farewell of the Hunger Strike

**Summary:**

"But whose shitty plan was it, to stuck two kids in a wardrobe and ask them to save the world?"

**Alternate Universe: **

Where little boys do as they are told; meaning August stayed with Emma, and she grew up knowing she was the Savior. Also, Henry didn't steal Mary Margaret's credit card, so he doesn't know who his birth mother is and he never went to find her in Boston.

Where the Dark Curse affects everyone; meaning anyone who wasn't protected by the wardrobe or Cora's spell has been cursed and therefore, lost their memories.

Also this story begins in autumn rather than in summer. I know Emma's birthday isn't supposed to be in fall but I wanted it to be later during the year for reasons.

**Disclaimer:**

I have no legal rights on _Once Upon A Time_ and nor do I want any. Also, the title comes from Aimee Mann's _Save Me_, which is both incredibly fitting and hauntingly beautiful (yeah I have no rights on HIMYM either but that's irrelevant).

* * *

**Chapter One: Welcome to Storybrooke**

Some days were made of cold foggy air, grey skies, and nervous hands shoved inside pockets. Standing on the side of an empty road, surrounded by an army of pine trees, the old "_Welcome to Storybrooke_" sign seemed to Emma like an omen befitting that shitty, shitty day. Gone were the small cakes and their not-so-triumphant pink candles; gone were the hours of playful games and sweet charades to find the presents hidden amongst the furniture. To be honest, sometimes, she wondered if she had made up that birthday, that one perfect family they had for a month, but August had assured he shared the memories too; it sounded like a promise. _You only turn five once, kid_, he had told her that day, and it had been true.

Emma had never been five again.

"Are you sure you're ready?"

Such a serious voice accompanied those bright blue eyes.

"Oh come on, you gotta ask?"

She threw her answer at him before pulling out her tongue, the childish grin so common over the years; reassurance, as they stood over the edge of a cliff. The road trip up to there had been filled with jokes, music and arguments over where to stop to pee but here, so close to destination and yet so far from it, with feet crushing gravel and breaths creating fog, they knew oh so well where they were. And so they waited.

Five minutes of silence as they battled their demons.

During that time, Emma had traced every letter on the sign with her finger, walked around, avoided stepping on the cracks on the road, and counted the birches amongst the pines. She had taken off her gloves and put them back on three times. She had opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again five times. She had cracked her neck and stretched every muscle she physically could. And then, she could take it no more.

"We stick to the plan, right?"

Just like that, it was over. It was time to go.

Swiping his greasy hands on the back of his jeans, August didn't need to look at his sister to know what she was thinking. _Why am I doing this?_ That had been the question hunting him for the past twenty-eight years; of course, he did not have an answer. He took one last look at the landscape behind them before throwing his toolbox in the back of the yellow bug, the distinct sound of metal against metal pulling both siblings out of their thoughts.

Standing beside the opened passenger door, he placed one hand on the frame, the other one scratching the back of his neck. There, he waited seven long seconds for Emma to walk back to the car, and in that moment it took every bit of strength he had ever possessed not to speak. All his will not to say the words he had feared all his life that he would not be able to quiet. _We don't have to do this._

But they really did, and his father would have been proud.

"Alright, let's get this shit over with."

Okay, his dad probably would've been shocked, but still very, very proud.

* * *

It was more impressive than he thought it would be, and that might have been the reason why he tilted his head onto the side so much. From afar, the sight appeared as unreal and laughable as a still taken out of a sitcom; two strangers standing, side by side, hands shoved in pockets and neck bent with the same angle, sharing the similar puzzled expression on their faces.

Watching from a few feet away, in his drenched outfit, Storybrooke's Sheriff did not find it comical at all.

"How…?"

The blonde seemed to lack words, despite the fact that, as a driver, she should be keenly aware of how this little situation had found itself to be. After all, she was the one who had lost control over her vehicle, sending it in a direct path over a fire hydrant that had, fortunately, stopped its chaotic course.

On the other hand, the latter fact was not so lucky for Graham, who had been standing at the corner, talking to Granny about the liquor licenses for her establishment – something about renewal she hadn't signed? She wasn't actually listening since, behind him, she had noticed a yellow Beetle swaying recklessly on the otherwise empty street. Her reflexes had allowed her to step back just in the nick of time, avoiding the torrent of water that had rushed out of the broken fire hydrant, but she hadn't been kind enough to include the young police officer in her movement. As the strangers stepped out of their car, Granny had sneaked away rapidly, abandoning them both to the Sheriff's wrath.

It certainly didn't help that Emma was laughing.

"You think it's funny?", the police officer asked as he walked up to the strange couple, trying to shake most of the water off his leather jacket.

"No officer, we don't", the man answered, even though the Sheriff had obviously intended his question for the blonde. August jabbed his elbow into Emma's side lightly, not effectively stopping her laughter but still managing to quiet it down.

"This is city property you've damaged, you know", the officer spoke, his seriousness tampered by the wide smile the blonde perpetrator still sent him. Puzzled, he turned around; standing beside the couple, head unwillingly tilting to the right as he watched the large fountain of water that seemed it would never drain. Eyes still ahead, he pulled out his cellphone. "You two, stay there."

"Suspicious much", August spoke between his teeth as soon as the police officer walked away, slightly angered that Emma would be so foolish about their first contact with a Storybrooke citizen. Her careless attitude was one of the reasons they had gotten in trouble so many times before, and it was only to prevent blowing their cover that he wasn't listing all those bad choices one after the other, right here, right now. God she annoyed him sometimes.

"Come on, you can't be worried that he'll somehow guess that we've cut the break lines on our damn car", Emma answered in a low voice, her hand gliding on the top of her yellow bug as she added, loudly. "She's such a beauty!"

"That, she is", the Sheriff answered, and as he slipped his cellphone back into his pocket, the vertical stream of water came to a mild flow, before it entirely stopped. "Ah, there, all better."

August hadn't noticed it yet; the incredible quietness that haunted the streets of Storybrooke. Even now, as the loud thunder of dripping water had finished its roar, replaced by the looks and whispers of the curious citizens, the emptiness that would become his very definition of this cursed land seemed to dominate and silence everything. He shivered, but it went unnoticed.

"Care to explain what happened?"

He didn't care, really, but once again the question hadn't been addressed to him, and so his eyes were free to roam around, pupils grasping every face, every street sign, every building. _A ghost town filled with empty people_, the thought seemed to root inside his very soul, reawakening childhood nightmares, urging him to run away.

Sending a look to the wrecked car, he passed one hand through his hair. Obviously, they weren't going anywhere.

* * *

There were things that were easy to believe, others that required a certain amount of faith, and others, well… Others, she'd rather not think about. Although here she was, Storybrooke, ME, and with both feet stuck ankles deep in all that stuff she really, really wish were untrue up until now.

Troubled green orbs settled on August for a second before they moved again, returning to the safe spot Emma had found on the ceiling. It was probably just a botched parget job but from an angle, it looked like a butterfly.

"We are renting a room from Little Red Riding Hood and her grandma", she repeated for the fourth time. It didn't matter how she rearranged the words, how she modified her tone, how she twisted her fingers in her palms. It didn't make sense.

It never did.

How many times had they have this conversation, she wondered, eyes still locked onto her butterfly. Ever since she was a little girl, and really, when she thought about it, her first memory would probably be this conversation, this exact moment, an echo of their entire relationship. August telling the frightened little blonde who she is, what she will do, all this destiny shit, and Emma… Not believing.

"Yeah, we are", he insisted with the usual mix of annoyance and concern. "So keep your voice down, will you?!"

Same conversation, different words.

"Oh, are you afraid they'll hear us and shockingly discover their true identities?"

The question wasn't honest. It was filled with anger, resentment and condescension and she hadn't really meant it, but then again, she never did. She hadn't spoken his name, the one they never used, but he had heard it anyway. Pinocchio. The sting that name could send through his chest was unbearable, even when she silenced it, as she had just done. She was being unfair, and they both knew it, so he found it unnecessary to say.

"We have to lay low."

The words – hers, that he had just repeated now – cooled down the air in the small bedroom. Between the red tapestries they didn't move; Emma lying on the bed, August sitting on the couch, somehow finding the way to revel in the unspoken trust the phrase had brought back to light. Just like that, the argument erased. The road ahead, a bit clearer.

Despite the sudden clearing in the woods, the blonde still felt her frustrations bubbling over the surface. She sighed, knowing better to remain silent than to voice her concerns again. Her brother had been nothing but patient with her, and somehow, when she thought about it, really thought about it, she was never mad at him. He simply did what he had to do. _You will make her believe, Pinocchio_, his father had asked, and he did good by his words.

But whose shitty plan was it, to stuck two kids in a wardrobe and ask them to save the world?

Emma wouldn't mind having a word or two with them, when all would be over.

"So… supper?"

* * *

Granny's Diner, much like her Bed & Breakfast, seemed out of another time, and while Emma found the whole thing endearing, it only brought August back to his previous fears of ghost towns and empty people. Tapping a beat on the table's edge with her plastic menu, the blonde looked around, reminding him of days gone by too fast (yet sometimes they were so very long). Life on the run, petty thieving and stolen cars; he had never seen her as happy as those years they had thrown away, hitting the road like there was no tomorrow.

He winced at the sudden image that always followed such a train of thought. Emma, too small in her orange prison uniform, holding the black phone receiver and showing him her middle finger as she hung up on him.

Yeah, there had been hard bumps along the way.

The mechanic had promised to take a look at the damage tomorrow morning, but it didn't really matter; they both knew they weren't going away any time soon. The parts he would need to fix the break lines alone would take some time to be shipped in – if anything could be shipped in at all, they wondered but never asked aloud. Better not to poke the bear.

They had rented the two bedrooms at Granny's for a night none the less; as they needed the citizens of Storybrooke to think that they were simply a couple of siblings on a road trip who were just down on their luck, automobile-wise. Happily adhering to the script, the blonde had suggested they shared a bottle of wine over their respective meals, as if they were trying to make the best of a bad situation.

And so they found themselves quite tipsy, Pinocchio and the Savior laughing loudly on both sides of booth, on their first evening in Storybrooke, ME, a cursed city that couldn't exist, and that they were supposed to save.

Alright, so they weren't good with the laying low, but at least, they were having fun, Emma thought as she rose from her seat, excusing herself as she stumbled towards the restrooms. Behind her, she could still hear the laugh her brother shared with the waitress and for a second, she forgot entirely who she was, and what she was here to do, and in that blissful moment she smiled so genuinely that she couldn't remember the last time it had happened.

Maybe it was because she was searching through her memories or perhaps it was the wine, but she failed to notice a young, adorable ten-year-old standing in her way, and bumped into him awkwardly.

"Oh shit, sorry kid", she said, all red cheeks and sweet green eyes.

"I know who you are", the little boy replied enigmatically, crossing his arms in front of his chest, as if he was waiting for her explanations. That kid had balls, Emma thought, and that was probably why she chose to endear him, instead of brushing him off.

"Alright, I'll bite…", she replied with a wink. "Who am I?"

How his face could turn from a frown to a wide and cute grin in such a record time, the blonde had no idea.

"You're the Savior", he whispered with a wink of his own.

She had always hated the term, really, but hearing it from someone other than August was excruciatingly devastating. Like a slap in the face, but with a crowbar. Or a hit in the gut with one of those wood things with rusted nails in it? Yeah, definitely that.

"What did you just say?" Emma asked, clenching her jaw and wishing – hoping – that the child couldn't feel the anger that was running through her veins right now because those words – those exact words – always brought out the worst of her.

"Don't worry, I'll keep your secret", he said casually, waving his hand in the air between them as if what he had revealed barely meant anything. He shrugged before he extended his arm politely; "I'm Henry, by the way."

Even though her brain barely managed to answer, the blonde grabbed his tiny fingers in her warm palm, shaking it lightly as she offered her name.

"Emma."

"I know", the kid retorted with a smile the blonde would've probably found extremely adorable if she wasn't so freaked out by the entire encounter.

She stared as the kid made his way back to the take-out counter, and as he chatted with a woman that stood by the counter, the blonde struggled against a strange nausea that was slowly overcoming her senses. She couldn't move as she kept imagining that the brunette in the tall black coat would soon turn her head and look at her, and somehow Emma knew that if she did, that if those eyes laid on her, the stranger would see right through her soul, and the blonde would be crushed on the spot.

It never happened, though, and after the brunette had grabbed her take-out bag and left the restaurant with the strange little kid, after Emma had heard the little bell that warned the staff of every opening and closing of the door, the nausea vanished as mysteriously as it had appeared.

She made her way back to her table, pondering on what she was going to tell her brother, and it was as she sat in the booth that her bladder reminded her why she had left her seat in the first place, and she sighed.

Yeah, she obviously wasn't ready for this.


	2. The Quiet Pains of Motherhood

**Chapter Two: The Quiet Pains of motherhood**

Some mornings, Regina just wished she had the magic to rewind time, and she reassured herself by thinking most parents felt the same, every now and then. If given the choice, who wouldn't want their baby boy to remain as utterly adorable as they used to be?

Except Henry had never been the easiest of kids, that much she could say without a doubt – nevertheless with a slight guilt. Doctor Whale had called him once a "crying baby", as if he was different, difficult even, and although at the time she had been angry at the comment, months later, she would've been damned if she didn't agree at least to a certain degree. Of course, Henry's behavior had no effect on the extent to which she loved him; he was her entire world. However, her little prince had a tendency to inflate every feeling he had into a time-ticking bomb, and the explosions at 108 Mifflin Street were both frequent and unavoidable.

Emptying in the kitchen sink the contents of a warmed out glass of orange juice of which he had, once again, only drank half; Regina replayed their earlier argument in her head.

"You can't order me around; you're not my _real_ mom!"

She wondered which part of her parenting had led to this black-and-white child, whose love was unconditional one day, and turned into sour hatred the next. There was nothing she wouldn't do for that stubborn kid, and still she kept hitting a wall with him; as if she'd never be enough. Once, after he had gotten into some trouble at school, she had confiscated his video games for a week; Henry had screamed at her then that maybe she had chosen him, but he never had chosen her.

The words had stung, and they had never stopped hurting.

Sighing heavily, the brunette placed the dirty plates and glasses in the dishwasher, her expert hands operating on autopilot while she continued her train of thought, despite the bitter taste that was spreading from the back of her throat to the rest of her mouth.

As a baby, Henry would cry every time someone would be upset; every and any loud noise threw him into a fit and when he got his tiny fingers dirty, giant tears fell down his cheeks. Never Regina had seen a being so entirely fragile that this many little things could tear him apart in the course of an instant. Being his mother, she shared all those pains – even through minor annoyance – and had grown used to picking up the pieces of his crises, but mostly, she had tried to prevent them at every turn. Were there construction on a nearby street, she would make a detour to avoid it, knowing the drills would scare little Henry. Neighbor had a loud barking dog? Outlawed.

Everything she did, she did for her son. Therefore, when that dreadful day came, she had planned every little detail with the upmost devotion towards her beautiful child. That day, she had intended every word she had slowly and carefully spoken; she had seemingly prepared for every outcome, except for Henry's actual reaction. Because when she told him in the most soft and loving voice that she had adopted him, her little prince did not cry. He did not yell. He did not throw up, nor did he ransack his bedroom, smashing toys and tearing apart his bed sheets.

No, he had raised his smart tiny head, locked his adorable eyes inside hers, and with the simplest, cruelest of voices, he had stated; "I knew you were lying to me." And from that day on, she had been the monster who had locked him away from his _real_ family and their _real_ love.

But that was three years ago, and in three years, the mayor's heartbreak had turned family into a severe reign of rules, homework and a strict code of conduct under which Henry consistently failed being the perfect son and Regina, the perfect mother. Therapy sessions with Doctor Hopper weren't changing anything, but the brunette was anything if not resilient.

This morning, though, the fight had been quite different than their usual banter. No, today Henry had said something that had left Regina more troubled about her son's behavior than she had ever been. Angrily telling her off after she had insisted, as she had the previous night, that he not speak with strangers, he had accused her of something so incredibly unexpected that she hadn't been able to retort.

"You don't want me talking to Emma 'cause she'll break your curse and everyone will know you're the Evil Queen!"

Regina's son had grabbed his backpack and rushed out of the house before she had time to react to the accusation, and now here she stood, alone in her immense kitchen, lonelier than she had ever been. Truly, she wished he could have remained her two-months-old prince. Sleepless nights, dirty diapers and endless cries didn't seem so bad, now.

* * *

"Better leave you to it then", August said as he firmly shook the mechanic's hand. "Thanks again."

Emma rolled her eyes at her brother's attempt at camaraderie; it was way too early for her to try and socialise, and so she had remained at the entrance of the garage, waiting more or less patiently. During the conversation, the two men had connected on their common knowledge of mechanical repairs and while gaining allies in town was necessary in the long run, the blonde wished they would've made a detour by Granny's to get some coffee in her system before they started chatting up random strangers.

"You are so not a morning person", her brother jokingly stated as he reached her side, picking up the pace as they walked away from Billy's garage and into downtown Storybrooke – if there was such a thing.

"No, I'm not", Emma answered, running a hand through her blonde hair to push it out of her face. "But since when are _you_?"

August shrugged; even though he had never considered himself shy, he didn't really have an outgoing persona. Between last night's flirting with the waitress and this morning's cheerful conversation with the mechanic, though, he knew his behavior differed from the lonely guy he used to be. Perhaps it was caused by the odd feeling he couldn't shake; that those people weren't exactly real, and mostly broken. Missing pieces of themselves, marionettes under a silent puppeteer; kindred spirits.

They walked down a few blocks in silence, both keeping their hands in their pockets as if they had something to hide. After a while, though, Emma couldn't stop the question that had been tugging at her brain ever since they had arrived.

"Did you see them?"

Although the interrogation seemingly came from nowhere, August knew immediately what his sister meant. She was asking, quite innocently and yet fearfully, if he had seen her parents, her _real_ parents as she'd say; dear old Snow White and Prince Charming. Truth be told, it had been a long time since he had last conjured the image of the royal couple, and sometimes feared he wouldn't recognize them, when the time would come. They seemed to be figments of his imagination, a past so foreign he dreaded he'd never entirely be able to find it again. The same thing could not be said about his dad, of course, whose face had remained engraved in his mind with the fierce solemnity of a beloved son.

"Who?", August asked, delaying his answer even though he knew he wasn't fooling her.

"You know what? You're a dick", Emma said as she stopped walking, too pissed off to let it go. How could he bring her here with crazy stories of curses and saviors and then pretend not to know the main reason she had agreed to come here for in the first place? Refusing to let him voice his usual excuses of _I'm only trying to protect you, Em_ and _you'll have to trust me on this_, she closed her mouth and angrily turned around, effectively storming off.

However, she didn't account for the presence of other pedestrians sharing the sidewalk and ended up stumbling straight into a short brunette, the collision causing the stranger's to-go cup of coffee to erupt, throwing the hot black caffeinated liquid over both of their jackets. The expected burnt sting on Emma's chest immediately followed, as well as a flow of excuses coming from the smaller woman.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, it's all my fault really, I wasn't looking", the brunette rambled on, her obvious embarrassment painting her cheeks red.

Emma's moody morning persona had been so shocked from the surprise that she couldn't find it in herself to be mad. After all, it was probably more her fault than anyone else's, maybe it was because the small woman seemed bent on repent, but it immediately turned her angry frown into a warm smile.

"It's alright", the blonde spoke hastily, startling the stranger. As it wasn't her intention to deepen the worry of the shy woman, she rapidly added; "it was really my fault anyway."

"No, it was mine, I'm always like this", the brunette said, and there was such a sadness behind the words that Emma felt something tugging at her heart.

"Always throwing your coffee on strangers?", she joked before she extended her hand. "I'm Emma, by the way."

"Mary Margaret", the woman replied with a soft smile.

Their eyes met and for a second, it seemed as if time stood still. As if they had recognized each other from somewhere; old friends meeting after years of being apart. Emma had rarely felt this comfortable around strangers in the past; in fact, it had happened only once before. She recalled the moment well, even though it had occurred years ago; that day she had stolen a yellow Beetle and towed a thief back home. One look into Neal's eyes, and she had known him entirely – or so she had thought.

"And this is my brother August", Emma introduced him, desperate to derail her train of thought.

Her voice was strangely cheerful, despite her recent outburst of anger, which she somehow hoped the stranger hadn't heard. However, when she turned around, she noticed no one was standing beside her; August had left her alone, and the solitude was somehow comforting, although it now made her look like a fool in front of Mary Margaret.

"_Was_ my brother, anyway", Emma gestured towards the empty space, embarrassed.

"He looks nice", the brunette said tongue-in-cheek, rising her wrist to look at her watch. "Listen, I really have to go. Sorry again about…", she gestured towards the blonde's ruined jacket. "All that."

"See you around."

She sighed when the stranger left, wondering how it was possible to meet someone for the first time and suddenly feel that rush of emotion for them; as if you've known them all your life. It was a crazy thought, but those were crazy times, Emma rationalised.

Picking up the pace, she walked down a few blocks, absently following down the path leading back to the Bed and Breakfast. Punctuated by her footsteps, her thoughts rambled on, diverting the memories of Neal, August and hers, a past life of crimes that didn't seem so bad sometimes, onto more pressing matters. _First, change clothes, buy coffee, then walk around. Enter every shop you can find. Keep a low profile. Map the town like you're casing the place_.

Despite all the stories August had told her, all the confidence she had seen in the kid's eyes on the previous evening; regardless of all the times she had heard of her destiny and her potential curse-breaking heroics, as she walked alone along Storybrooke's narrow streets, Emma Swan didn't feel like a Savior.

She felt like a thief.

* * *

Between the yellow lighting of the street lamps, the cold yet soft raindrops and the flick-flack of the water against the docks, Henry wondered if he had crossed into another world, one not unlike the old movies his mother watched sometimes, when she thought he was safely tucked in upstairs. Those nights, he'd crawl slowly down the stairs, hypnotized by the harmonies of dark dialogs and sad piano that came from the television, not daring to peek into the living room. The memory made him shiver; that woman definitely wasn't his mom anymore.

A silhouette moved against the bench, a few meters away, and Henry's heart missed a beat. Freezing in place, as if being immobile would be enough to hide him in the shadows, his little hands turned into fists. He closed his eyes and drew one long breath, slowly counting to five. Although he was becoming a bit too old for that trick, he still used it sometimes – when his nightmares were too frightening or when he really needed to be brave.

Like the day that bird broke its neck against the living room window and his mom and he buried it in the backyard. Or that time he and Paige were jumping on the couch at her house and he had fell down and broken his arm. Or when he had read that book Miss Blanchard gave him, that big old fairy tale book, and recognized his mother in the pictures. The Evil Queen.

"Can I help you, kid?"

Henry had only reached three, but he didn't need to count anymore. Opening his eyes, his grin widened and he stepped forward, the stranger's silhouette slowly becoming more familiar as he identified whom it belonged to; Emma. The Savior.

"I was looking for you", the young boy answered cheerfully before he sat down beside the blonde he had met only yesterday, at Granny's, but he felt he had known her all his life. "I want to help."

His words only brought more confusion on the woman's face.

"With what?"

"Breaking the curse", he quickly filled her in, bringing his backpack onto his knees and searching through his contents. He pulled out an old book. "Everything we need to know is in here."

The woman sighed, her fingers tracing the contour of the engraved letters on the leather of the book's cover. She searched for the right words, debating with herself even as she spoke.

"Look, kid, I don't know who you are, but I'm just passing through here", Emma tried; even though she realised her weak attempt to fool the kid would undoubtedly be met with sheer incredulity.

Sure enough, the kid rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"No you're not, you're Snow White's daughter and you're here to fight the Evil Queen and save all of us", he argued, pushing the book onto Emma's lap as if it were confirmation for his words.

Absently peeking at its content, the blonde quickly turned the pages. Enchanted apples, imprisoned princesses and dark woods; nothing she hadn't read before. Emma continued her inquiry of the book, keenly aware of the kid's stare resting on her but decidedly ignoring him. There was an urge growing in her chest and blinding her thoughts, and she struggled only for a few seconds before she abandoned. Fingers slipped through the sheets of paper rapidly, pinching one more firmly than the others.

Balancing the weight of the book into one palm, Emma finally reached the last page of the book, and as her green eyes ran over the last paragraph, she frowned. How could it end mid-sentence?

"It's an old book", the boy shrugged. "There are some pages missing."

Closing it in one angry gesture, Emma thought it was just her luck.

"Okay, so what if I am the Savior?", the words caught in her throat as if she was choking, although the enthusiastic child sitting beside her didn't seem to notice.

"We should work together", Henry suggested, taking back the book and safely returning it into the depths of his backpack. Inside the bag, the blonde could see a green plastic folder with star stickers and was reminded of a time long gone, one that smelled like pencil sharpeners and gum erasers. School nights.

"Or, you should go home and let me take care of things", she answered in a surprisingly mature voice. Suddenly rising to her feet, she turned towards the kid, holding out her hand. "Come on, I'll walk you there."

Emma knew that frown too well, and she could have predicted perfectly the words that were about to leave Henry's mouth.

"Please don't take me back there."

The plea met only with the blonde's new resolve; one that, in fact, surprised even her. As adorable as that ten-year-old was, she could not agree to haul him around town, looking for clues as to how to break the curse of an evil queen. Honest to God, she didn't even know if she was crazy most of the time – better not to drag anyone else down this road, especially not a kid with a future ahead of him; a child who had a home to go back to, one with sharpened pencils, help with homework and probably even unlimited orange juice.

"I have to. I'm sure your parents are worried sick about you", she continued as they walked, and the sound of Henry dragging his feet on the ground made her smile. It was as if she could _hear_ his pout.

"I don't have parents", the child protested, and the words stroke a blow in Emma's heart. "Just my mom, and she's evil."

The blonde didn't have a good comeback for that one, and so she remained silent as they walked. There was a slight angry jealousy roaming around her stomach; whatever Henry's problem with his mom was, it could never amount to the pain she had lived through in her early years. _Privileged kids_, she thought. _Maybe ignorance really is bliss_. Those thoughts conflicted with the overall comfort she felt, despite everything, while walking hand-in-hand with the little boy. Somehow, it was reassuring to know the kid had no idea what evil truly was.

Of course Emma had noticed it the previous day; the gentle hand resting on Henry's shoulder at Granny's diner, soft fingers brushing against the base of his neck to indicate that it was time to leave. Emma could recognise those gestures everywhere: it was the touch of a loving mother. One thing she had never truly known, and always craved. It wasn't evil; it was love. How Henry couldn't see that, she had no idea.

As they reached the gate that surrounded the boy's house – mansion would probably be the right word, Emma corrected herself – the blonde struggled with her desire to tell the kid that he would be alright. That she was certain his mother cared for him very much and that he should not worry. She opened her mouth, but was cut off by the sound of a woman's voice.

"- not the first time I know, but that really doesn't mean -"

Holding the cellphone to her right ear, the brunette's deeply worried sentence died in her throat, her eyes blinking at the sight of the two dark silhouettes that stood at the front gate. The metal door opened with a shrieking sound, allowing both figures to walk through.

"He's here", Henry's mother simply stated in the saddest voice Emma had ever heard.

Eyes on her son as she hang up, the brunette bit her lower lip. She didn't want to appear weak in front of a stranger, but she was torn between the seeping anger rushing through her veins and the tears threatening to roll down her cheeks.

"Henry where were you?", she asked as she rushed to her son's side, loving fingers tugging at his shirt and an angry hand possessively clutching his shoulder. Not waiting for an answer that she knew all too well would never come, she raised her eyes to stare down the stranger awkwardly standing in her yard. "And who are you?"

The dark voice left her mouth with such threatening tones it surprised even Regina herself, but she loved the sound of it. More fitting of a mayor, and less of a housewife. The switch triggered something in her son, who immediately pushed her away, getting out of her claw and closing his little fists.

"She's my friend, leave her alone!", he yelled, and she'd recognise those signs even in the depths of hell. He was going to either lash out in tears or in screams, and she would be damned if she was going to let it happen here, where all neighbors could see how bad a mother she was, in front of a blonde stranger that probably already judged her all the same.

"Henry, go to your room", she spoke with cold and detached intonations as her eyes registered every detail of the unwelcomed visitor. "Now."

Knowing better than to argue against his mother's wrath, the boy angrily made his way through the darkness of the alley, towards the blinding lights of the house. Emma could have sworn she heard him mumbling something that sounded like "I hate you", but she wasn't truly paying attention. Nervous under the brunette's stare, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

"Hi…", she tried with a weak smile, extending her hand. When Henry's mother did not return the gesture, she let the limb ridiculously fall back down by her side. "My name's Emma, Emma Swan… my brother and I are just passing through."

The information was uncalled for, and it brought another wave of embarrassment over the blonde. Never had she been so bad at cover stories and laying low, she thought; she looked so suspicious right now that she somehow worried the woman in front of her would end up calling the cops.

"I see", Regina answered, although she really didn't. There was something in the stranger's behavior that she found both frustrating and calming. Perhaps it was because she saw no blame in her green orbs; no _you must be doing something wrong_ lurking behind the words, unlike all her conversations with Henry's teacher at school meetings or with Graham, the nights she asked him to find her runaway kid.

"And may I ask what you were doing with my son?"

The question had come out ruder than she had intended, but seeing it was out there already, she felt no need to soften the features on her face. She closed the vest around her body, trying to warm herself up as she stared down the blonde. Yes, intimidating a stranger was so much easier to deal with than the reason the woman was here in the first place. Her runaway child and the guilt he came with.

"Nothing", a startled Emma blurted out, as if she hadn't expected the question. It had felt like the right thing to do, refusing Henry's help with the curse and trying to keep him away from all that angst, but she couldn't say so without sounding crazy. "I saw him by the docks and thought it was safer to walk him home, that's all."

Seconds of silence followed that statement, and from the way Henry's mother stared at her lips while she closed her fist, emotions rushing on her face, the blonde wondered if the brunette was going for a punch or a kiss.

"Really", Regina tried to use her detached voice again. Something kept tugging at her brain as she looked at the somewhat attractive trespasser that had brought her son back to her, and she suddenly felt an incredible wave of fatigue washing over her. "Well I guess I should thank you, then."

More than able to read between the lines, the blonde immediately knew it was as much gratitude as she was going to get – she didn't know why she had been expecting more up until now. Why she had longed for an invitation to come inside and share a drink. She pushed aside the clever retort her brain had come up with – August said it was the only way she knew how to flirt – and offered a warm smile instead.

"It's nothing", she answered, sending a look at the house and noticing a frail silhouette spying on them through a second-floor window. "He's a good kid."

"Yes, he is", the brunette replied, her voice almost heartfelt, despite the fake smile that flashed across her features. The woman turned around, not finding the strength to entertain the blonde any longer.

"Good night, …?", Emma tentatively voiced, hopeful eyes still locked onto the brunette.

There was a slight hesitation between two footsteps as the blonde's voice lingered, the unspoken question dangling in the middle of the alley.

"… Regina", Henry's mother answered.

Grinning like a teenager with a crush, Emma smiled all the way back to Granny's Bed and Breakfast, suddenly filled with confidence and somehow strangely _thrilled_.

Maybe Storybrooke wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I had already posted two chapters of this story on _Tumblr_ and _AO3_ but had forgotten to update . I am now quickly updating so that everyone's on the same page. Sorry 'bout that!


	3. The Relentless Pull

**Chapter Three: The Relentless Pull**

Body pressed down on the mattress like jam spread across bread, Mary Margaret kept her eyes closed and her breathing still, as if she had been squashed on there by the thumb of a giant, comfortably and utterly paralyzed. With no idea of the time, she pushed away the thought of getting up, as she had more pressing matters on her mind; retrieving the images of the dreams that had filled her lungs that night, beautiful reveries that had magically appeared in a dull, straight-lined life.

They were made of footsteps on wet soil amidst an empty forest. Hard rocks coming hard against her feet – was she barefoot? Blood pumping in her veins. She had been going to a funeral – or it was a vacation, she couldn't remember. There was a man following her; hunting her. And there she was, sitting by a pond, writing a letter.

It was an adieu of some sort.

The remembrance forced her eyelids open, iris violently retracting as the morning sun entered her sleepy mind. Gone were the images, but the thrill of the chase remained, and it was enough. She blinked a few times before she allowed her swollen muscles to stretch, although she could not, for the sake of her, figure out how they had gotten sore in the first place.

Turning around so that she could lay on her back, she threw her sleepy eyes on the ceiling. There, she tried to focus on nothing, her mind desperately pulling back what she could from the dream before it was too late. Outside, a bird sang a few notes, and it grabbed her attention for a second, shattering her hopes of finding back what she had _lost_.

And it was as she felt, that morning: the profound and unsettling feeling of having lost something. This peculiar and annoying feeling one has when they leave the house and know they've forgotten something, but can't figure out what. That gnawing thought pulling at your mind and driving you insane as you search for something _that was just there_ and _now is gone_.

She sighed as she pushed away the blankets, the cold air of her loft wrapping itself around her skin despite the robe she put on. On timer, the coffee machine had already started to work its magic and she walked barefoot to her bathroom, the familiar creaking of the wood under her feet as her only companion.

The bathroom mirror told her she should've stayed in bed and she avoided looking at it more than was necessary, although it sent her immediately into her usual routine. As she always did first thing in the morning, she blew her nose while she peed – why did her nose always feel so blunt in the morning, as if she had spent the night crying? – eyes wincing against the cold before she walked back to the kitchen to pour the fresh coffee into a cup.

It wasn't before she drank her first sip that she realised something was wrong.

On the fridge, the grocery list she dutifully kept should have given her a clue, if she had taken the time to notice. As it had been programmed, the machine had heated water and rushed it through the filter, despite the fact that it didn't contain coffee, and had created this monstrosity of yellowish hot water that tasted like the bitter aftertaste of a badly brewed espresso.

She sighed as she poured it down the drain, watching the swirl of the liquid in the sink as it reached its bottom, and wondering how many times she had done the same.

* * *

"We could've driven in on your motorcycle…"

"Yeah, because a concussion is exactly what we need right now."

Two stubborn kids stuck together like glue, Emma thought as she leaned against the wall, feeling awkwardly out of place in the tiny bedroom. Even though there were plenty of places to sit while her brother pondered on the earlier revelations, she couldn't find it in herself to be still. She had been moving from one spot to another, piling up bad jokes over words of comfort, desperate to find a way in. Finally, she had given up, and lost her own mind to memories of similar times.

The dark expression August wore today had first appeared to her when she had ran away from the Muller's home to find him, as they had been sent to different foster parents. She was seven then, and so proud to have been clever enough to make her way back to him; she couldn't understand then why he wasn't as happy and relieved as she was. She escaped and returned to August many times over the course of the next few years, and despite every elopement, she still couldn't imagine how it must have been for him; turning eighteen and suddenly having to care, alone, for a thirteen-year-old who half-expected him to return her to the abusive household she had ran from. That thoughtful and worried expression had become usual, common: his big brother's concern more than evident, his moral dilemma never quite solved.

As August's face remained still, she could almost feel the mechanics of his brain working, trying to decipher the right way to go on. Meeting Neal, all those years back, had also triggered somewhat the same reaction, Emma recalled. As she had insisted he join their life of freedom and petty crimes, the brother had locked himself up in their crappy motel room, the blonde silently following him and making herself scarce as her older brother made the decision of whether to trust or not the stranger. In the end, they both had known it didn't matter what verdict August reached: even though the Savior desperately needed her brother's blessing, it wasn't like she had heeded his warnings in the past. With a shiver, she remembered the prison where it sent her, and it was enough to pull her out of her downward spiral of memories.

Earlier this morning, Emma had told August about the kid she had met, and who knew _what_ she was; he had taken in the news silently, slowly drowning in his thoughts and worries. Sitting by his typing machine, he had stared blankly at the white paper, unable to write anything and still, incapable to remove himself from his desk. Something was working its way through his mind, something long forgotten but that was important, and maybe there could be a strategy to this curse-breaking thing after all, if Emma could simply be quiet and patient.

"Well it's either that of a Disney movies marathon", she suggested, though the hateful look that answered her brought her to quickly back down. "Okay, forget I said anything."

She was truly grateful he didn't remind her of her own little outburst of anger from the previous day. Even though it wasn't surprising, since every conflict with him ended the same, the space he always provided for her allowed her to trust him more than she would most people. When they fought, he'd remove himself from the conversation until she calmed down, and then pretended as if nothing had happened. August rarely confronted her, even though his beliefs radically crashed against hers.

For a kid who grew up in the system, just like her, he sure as hell believed in love and family more than she did. Tossing aside all the Savior destiny bullshit he had stuck down her throat ever since she was five, there were all these things he said that she could never believe. That her parents loved her. That everyone could find a place where they'd fit. That they just had to be truthful, selfless and brave.

For a long time, Emma had thought he was being a good brother – telling her whatever she needed to get the courage to go from one place to the other, even when being separated from him despite their case worker's assurances that it would never happen. Then, as she had gotten older, she had settled on him being an asshole, and treating her like the kid she never could be, inventing stupid bedtime stories to keep her mind occupied.

In the end, though, she had agreed to come to Storybrooke. It had taken twenty-eight years, a thousand fights, the cruelest of betrayals and the hardest loss, but she had said yes. _Yes, I will follow you to your happy ending_.

To Emma, that expression still sounded more dreadful than reassuring.

"What do you want to do?"

It was conciliation, and he heard it as such. The blonde's voice had softened, again silently agreeing to trust August's instincts, and in the same breath, committing once more to breaking the curse, even though she could never understand the stakes. She wondered if he could imagine what it felt like, to her, walking around this city and seeing nothing more than small town Maine. He perceived another dimension to everything here, and sometimes his eyes looked pained, other times, hopeful, and she knew she could never really _get_ her brother.

"Check out the woods. See if there's anything there."

He grabbed his room key and stood up, but didn't make a move towards the door. There was something uncertain in his steps, as if he was wondering what he was supposed to do next. Obviously, the discussion about Henry had troubled him more than she could imagine, but she had no idea why. Since she was in the dark about, well, everything here, she focused on the one thing she could still vaguely read: her brother's behavior. As every time she had seen that troubled look on his face, she knew what she had to do. It was the same thing he always did for her; she gave him space.

"Okay, well you do that. I'm going grocery shopping."

She knew what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth, and rolled her eyes. "Yes, I have money, _mom_, now go away."

He smirked before he opened the door, and the atmosphere had changed so quickly that it almost took her by surprise to feel it again; the ease between the both of them, the trust that had always been there. They'd always look out for each other, even in the darkest of times; August had been the only one to visit her time and time again while she was in prison, and he had never judged her, even though he had warned her that running off with Neal was a bad idea. Never had he said _I told you so_, and this, even though it had taken her years to agree, was her way of paying him back.

"I want to meet that kid after school."

"Yeah, ok."

* * *

Buying groceries was one task Emma never did mind; after all, one who buys food usually has a home to cook it in, and that thought always made her smile, even though she was always buying crappy things they could eat while they crammed into a dirty motel room or in the car. They used to drive around all the time, August and her, until she met Neal. She had then ran away with him, and met with her brother here and there, in so many different cities that she wouldn't be able to list them if she tried. It was one of the things that had remained unsaid on the road leading to Storybrooke: the fact that it had been years since they last traveled together. It had never crossed her mind before now, how much she had missed it.

As a nostalgic smile spread across her face, she turned the corner and noticed her. If Henry hadn't been lying about his mom's job, she was the Mayor of this quaint little town, which probably made her similar to royalty in this back road city of Maine. And there she stood, studying the content of a box like it somehow mattered, which reminded Emma once again of Henry's carefully packed schoolbag, unlimited orange juice and the hand that had softly lingered on the back of his neck at the diner the other night. She didn't notice she was staring, but neither did the brunette, and there was comfort in that usual anonymity of being a stranger in a new place. It was as close to home as the blonde had ever gotten; a safe spot from which one could spy out all the possibilities around, scouting to find their next move into this world.

She didn't know which one came first; her step forward or the beautiful brown eyes that had landed on her with a mixed expression.

"So, we meet again", Emma wanted to roll her eyes at her lame introduction but worried of how it would be perceived. Pulled by a strange curiosity and stumbling over her pride, she took another step forward and held a wavering smile.

"Storybrooke is a small town Miss Swan; it happens more than you'd think", the mayor replied as she placed the box back onto its shelf. There was an indecisiveness as her fingers brushed against the cardboard, but it disappeared a second later as she turned around, continuing her way down the aisle as if she could care less about both the box and the blonde.

"Yeah, I wouldn't know, I don't do small town", Emma replied as she stepped behind, pretending to look around even though her eyes remained mostly on the Mayor. As the brunette sent her a curious look, she realised her words could be easily taken as an insult. "I mean, my brother and I are used to travel to bigger cities."

The correction wasn't really helpful and the brunette's face had gone from slightly amused to terrifyingly vexed in a matter of seconds.

"Well then, why don't you get back on the road?"

Her voice was cold and she didn't even try to hide the fact that it basically meant she wanted them out of her town. Weren't small cities supposed to be warm and welcoming? Emma had always thought they would be.

"Can't. Car's at the repair shop."

Why the blonde was still following her around, Mayor Mills had no idea.

"Ah, yes", the brunette spoke, her frustration turning into something else as she realised, "_you_ broke the fire hydrant on Main Street."

She had stopped mid-aisle for her accusation and Emma's instincts had barely been quick enough to avoid a collision of their bodies. The blonde suddenly felt as a shamed child, as if she had broken the mayor's favorite vase and had tried to hide the pieces under the carpet.

"Hm, yeah, sorry about that", the blonde managed to say, taking a little step back as she realised how near they stood. Red embarrassment came to her cheeks as she noticed the knot in her stomach; she knew that feeling all too well. It was the same one she first discovered when Mrs. Aldington smiled at her, in fourth grade. It was similar to the sensation she had that time she had danced with a boy at school – it didn't matter that it was a dare; it tied itself in her gut anyway. It had returned a few times in her adult life, but never as strong as it was now, and it made that dreadful day pale in comparison, the one when her eyes had first seen that sleeping idiot napping in the backseat of a stolen VW.

"No matter, I'm sure your insurance is going to cover the charges", the brunette pulled her out of her strain of memories and the knot tightened again, even though there was another feeling entirely washing over her.

Nothing had moved on Emma's face, but there was something in the silence between them.

"You _do_ have insurance, Miss Swan?"

She heard something inside the brunette's voice, and it sounded like she was actually hoping that she didn't. As if it would make the whole thing even better. _The sadist_. She probably even knew about the knot it the blonde's stomach and found it amusing to pull the strings.

"I… uh… yeah, of course", Emma's confused answer only rose an incredulous eyebrow on the brunette's face as the blonde made a mental note of asking August about that later. "But if, per se, I sort of didn't have any…" she hinted.

"Then, you would owe the city of Storybrooke quite a lot of money."

It was oh so very wrong that Emma felt deeply aroused when the mayor stepped in closer, her breath coming up warm on her left cheek as she continued with a husked voice.

"And I assure you, Miss Swan, I will make you pay."

* * *

August remembered the ritual all too well; the gathering of pencils and books, the race to the lockers. The horrible scent of sweat and smelly feet mixed with the industrial bleach used to clean the hallway. Tying the knot on his laces, while hurrying his fingers in fear. Some days, he didn't make it in time, and those days were the ones he couldn't forget. It took him way too long to learn how to fight back his bullies, and by then, they had already grown tired of him.

Watching the kids scattering out of school and back to their life, he remembered how he loved being in school despite everything. Learning, studying, it reminded him of days at his father's woodshop; eyes wide open as he looked at the man focusing on his job. There ever was one word to describe his dad as he worked the wood: devoted.

A shy little guy stepped out of Storybrooke's Elementary School, awkward in his still opened coat, but smiling when he noticed the blonde. So it was him, August thought, confirming the thought that had emerged when Emma had mentioned a child who seemed to know about the curse, about her destiny. _Of course it was him_. The careless walk, the lovable stupid grin, the shiny eyes… He was the son of the Savior and Baelfire alright. How Emma didn't know already, he had no clue.

"Hey", the kid welcomed her, but then turned a worried eye on August. "Who is he?"

"A friend", the stranger answered, his voice sounding more serious and enigmatic than he had first intended.

The kid turned his attention back onto Emma, as if waiting for something; a confirmation, perhaps. He trusted her, August thought, and again he was left wondering how they could not simply _know_.

"Yeah, he's my brother actually."

Henry had a puzzled face, and through the uncertainty, the blonde noticed fear, doubt. Too many heavyweight emotions for such a little guy and she had no clue where they came from, or why it mattered so much to her in the first place.

"But I thought you were the…"

Suddenly it caught up to the two adults what was going on in Henry's mind.

"Yeah, she is, kid", August answered cryptically, but he guessed the intelligent mind of the child in front of him would be quick to understand the meaning his words. He then kneeled to bring his face at the boy's height. "Adopted family is still family."

There was a deep pain in the kid's step back, so vivid that Emma didn't care about correcting her brother's words. They had never truly been adopted; just sent from home to home, not always together but miraculously finding ways to keep contact. It didn't matter, anyhow; August did feel like family, more than anything in this world, and what seemed important was Henry's reaction. As if he had been slapped in the face.

"August is here to help", she spoke with a soft voice, hoping to soothe the kid's worries, "like you are."

The little boy agreed with a nod, but he continued to stare at the man in front of him, as if trying to decide if he wanted to trust him or not. The blonde smiled again, confident and reassuring, and it seemed to wipe away the fears in the child's eyes.

"I was hoping to see that book of yours", August asked, more gentle than he had been before. "I think there might be clues in there."

Looking around, the boy pulled on the belts of his backpack, moving the weight of his frail body from heels to toes, a mixture of excitement and fear keeping him from being still.

"Okay, but not here", Henry replied in a conspirator's whisper. "Meet me at my castle later."

Across the street, a black Mercedes parked, and although it was only with the corner of his eye, the kid noticed it straight away.

"You have to go, she's here", the boy insisted, panicked as he pushed the strangers aside. "Go!"

Sharing a conspicuous look, the two adults obeyed despite their lack of worry; the kid's nervous attitude would obviously not lead to anything helpful anyway, they both thought as they walked away, wondering what had caused such a reaction in the first place. A tingle in the back of her neck warned Emma that she was being thoroughly observed, and even though the knot tightened again, she knew it wiser not to turn around.

There would be plenty of other occasions to meet the Mayor again; it was a small town, after all. People ran into each other all the time – or so she had been told.

:E ^ ' ( q t , she tried with a weak smile, extending her hand. When Henry's mother did not return the gesture, she let the limb ridiculously fall back down by her side. "My name's Emma, Emma Swan… my brother and I are just passing through."

The information was uncalled for, and it brought another wave of embarrassment over the blonde. Never had she been so bad at cover stories and laying low, she thought; she looked so suspicious right now that she somehow worried the woman in front of her would end up calling the cops.

"I see", Regina answered, although she really didn't. There was something in the stranger's behavior that she found both frustrating and calming. Perhaps it was because she saw no blame in her green orbs; no _you must be doing something wrong_ lurking behind the words, unlike all her conversations with Henry's teacher at school meetings or with Graham, the nights she asked him to find her runaway kid.

"And may I ask what you were doing with my son?"

The question had come out ruder than she had intended, but seeing it was out there already, she felt no need to soften the features on her face. She closed the vest around her body, trying to warm herself up as she stared down the blonde. Yes, intimidating a stranger was so much easier to deal with than the reason the woman was here in the first place. Her runaway child and the guilt he came with.

"Nothing", a startled Emma blurted out, as if she hadn't expected the question. It had felt like the right thing to do, refusing Henry's help with the curse and trying to keep him away from all that angst, but she couldn't say so without sounding crazy. "I saw him by the docks and thought it was safer to walk him home, that's all."

Seconds of silence followed that statement, and from the way Henry's mother stared at her lips while she closed her fist, emotions rushing on her face, the blonde wondered if the brunette was going for a punch or a kiss.

"Really", Regina tried to use her detached voice again. Something kept tugging at her brain as she looked at the somewhat attractive trespasser that had brought her son back to her, and she suddenly felt an incredible wave of fatigue washing over her. "Well I guess I should thank you, then."

More than able to read between the lines, the blonde immediately knew it was as much gratitude as she was going to get – she didn't know why she had been expecting more up until now. Why she had longed for an invitation to come inside and share a drink. She pushed aside the clever retort her brain had come up with – August said it was the only way she knew how to flirt – and offered a warm smile instead.

"It's nothing", she answered, sending a look at the house and noticing a frail silhouette spying on them through a second-floor window. "He's a good kid."

"Yes, he is", the brunette replied, her voice almost heartfelt, despite the fake smile that flashed across her features. The woman turned around, not finding the strength to entertain the blonde any longer.

"Good night, …?", Emma tentatively voiced, hopeful eyes still locked onto the brunette.

There was a slight hesitation between two footsteps as the blonde's voice lingered, the unspoken question dangling in the middle of the alley.

"… Regina", Henry's mother answered.

Grinning like a teenager with a crush, Emma smiled all the way back to Granny's Bed and Breakfast, suddenly filled with confidence and somehow strangely _thrilled_.

Maybe Storybrooke wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Aaaaand now we're up-to-date. Oh, and thank you for the kind words. I look forward to where this will take us!


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